A Tale of Two Elven Cities: Part Two - Imladris
by Rumrum
Summary: Arriving in Imladris, Aníra discovers new friends, old friends, and the Valley's infinite ability to surprise.
1. A New Home

DISCLAIMER: This is Fanfiction. All I gain by publishing this story is enjoyment.

A/N: Hey, everyone! A little later than planned, but at least it's still January… However, I would advise all newcomers to read _Part One_ first, as it gives a solid background to this story. It is published within _The Silmarillion _annals.

A/N 2: Also, let me say from the outset that I am not blind, neither do I know anyone who is. What follows is merely my personal interpretation of a particular scenario. I hope you like it.

**A TALE OF TWO ELVEN CITIES: PART 2 – IMLADRIS**

**CHAPTER 1: A NEW HOME**

"Aníra, come over here!" Gwirith called.

Aníra urged her friend, Alassiel, towards her cousin's voice.

"Is it worth it?" she whispered.

"Honestly, Aníra, if I could give you my sight for one moment, I would."

"As good as that?"

"Oh, yes!" Gwirith breathed rapturously.

Aníra closed her eyes, for she found it helped to concentrate her mind. There was a great waterfall crashing down somewhere close by. Its echoes helped to convey the enormity of the valley that stretched out before them. Even now, this spot had become legendary amongst the Firstborn, for it was here that the Lord Elrond had first decided to establish his haven – the Last Homely House East of the Sea. A place for peace and learning, Elves had flocked to it, certain of their welcome. Now it was the turn of Aníra and her family. Límdur, Aníra's cousin-in-law, was a talented silversmith and he had long been in contact with Caraníon, an old friend and trading partner now based at Imladris. It was his extensive passages on his new home that had persuaded Límdur to make the move, along with Gwirith, their son Calanon, and Aníra.

Aníra had taken some convincing. Despite her current life being so far removed from that which she had endured in Gondolin, she still found it hard going anywhere new. She needed familiarity of space and stability of routine. Not that strangers would think so, for Aníra moved around with the same ease and grace as any other Elf. It was only when they were face-to-face that they would see the puckered skin and cloudy eyes. Then, perhaps, they would recall a hand at an elbow, or the sight of deft fingers moving over every surface, constantly gathering information about their surroundings. Nevertheless, having gone away to think about it, Aníra did acquiesce to the notion. Perhaps her sister Baudhiel, despite being confined to Mandos' Halls, was still managing to influence her actions, albeit benignly. It was safer for her to obey.

Now here they all were, staring over Lord Elrond's Hidden Valley, poised to begin this new chapter in the life-story of Arda.

XXX

Having been informed of their arrival, Caraníon came out to meet them and to escort them to the two cottages he had selected for their use.

"We had to knock one about a bit to make the dimensions as accurate as possible, but I believe it's a near enough match to your requirements. There is the large garden you asked for, though."

"Thank you, Caraníon, I appreciate your efforts on my behalf," said Aníra as they followed him away from the main House towards more open areas of meadow.

"Think nothing of it. We all help each other. No one job is considered more important than another. Although, when I extolled your talents as a silversmith to Lord Elrond, Límdur, he seemed quite happy to have poached you from Círdan!"

"Only now he gets two," put in Calanon, somewhat proudly.

"Indeed? Well, I look forward to witnessing your skill, young one. Ah, here we are. There is some provender already in the pantry but do ask if you want anything else. I know you'll want time to settle in. When you're ready, I'll show you the House and gardens."

They supped on cold meat, cheese, freshly baked bread, and fruit salad, washed down with some rather fine Valley-grown wine. Then they all pitched in to ready Aníra's cottage as quickly possible. Once she had announced it satisfactory, they moved on to the other cottage whilst Aníra became better acquainted with her garden.

Eventually, all was as it should be and Caraníon called upon them to take them on the promised tour. He began with a basic history of Imladris and its ethos. Aníra only half-listened to his discourse, for she was concentrating on all the sounds that were so different from the port city of Mithlond. Soon, however, Caraníon's voice changed in tone and began to echo in the manner of being inside. Yet they didn't seem to be wholly inside because the playful Valley breeze was still wafting about them.

"We'll start with the Hall of Fire. Now, it's use during daylight hours is for solitary contemplation, but, once Ithil has risen…"

Here, Aníra stopped listening entirely. She could now hear two other voices coming towards them from the opposite direction. Both were male and one was heart-stoppingly familiar.

"Good morrow, Istuion, Master-"

"Erestor!" Aníra cried out, halting everyone.

"Aníra?" Erestor's voice was cautious, as well it might be. "Is it really…No, it…"

"It _is _me, Erestor! I imagine I've changed somewhat."

"My word, you have! I-I hardly recognised you."

Aníra put out her hand and Erestor took it. She felt with delight the same slender hand and long, tapering fingers, but there was something else.

"I think you've changed as well, Erestor. Are these robes I can feel?"

"Yes. I am Chief Councillor to Lord Elrond."

"Oh, congratulations! And, if you don't mind my saying so, that's a far worthier occupation for you than Gondolin's Guardian of the Fountain…" There was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind Erestor. "Tell me, did you ever manage to finish your translation of the Verses?"

Beneath her fingers, Aníra felt Erestor tense and pull away from her.

"I do not recall such a work." His voice was polite, but crisp. "It would be a senseless translation in any case. Hardly anyone is at ease with that language."

"But, Erestor…"

"You and your party have a long walk ahead of you and I must attend a Council meeting. I will hold you up no further. Good day."

Robes swished passed Aníra and she was left where she stood, trying to fathom out precisely what she'd just heard. The tour continued, but Aníra was no longer paying it any heed. She felt sure the Erestor she knew in Gondolin would never have forgotten his translation of the Bard.

XXX

"Aníra!" The sudden, involuntary flexion of Calanon's elbow matched his tone and he drew them to a halt. "There's that ellon from earlier, the stiff, funereal one, Master…err…Erestor."

Aníra frowned. She wouldn't have put Erestor's name with those adjectives. Quiet maybe, but never stiff, and as for funereal…

"Truly?" she asked.

"He's certainly no sunshine. Dressed all over in black velvet and sitting as though he's got a poker up his-"

"Calanon!" Límdur hissed.

By now they had reached Aníra's little wicket gate.

"Do you want us to stay?"

"No, I'll be fine, thank you."

She entered her garden and followed the string to the wooden marker opposite the bench set amongst the new sprigs of lavender.

"Greetings, Erestor." She couldn't help but keep a little stiffness in her own voice.

"Aníra, I've come to apologise for my manner earlier. It was uncalled for. I am sorry. I was surprised, to say the least, to see you."

"Well, we Gondolindrim are rather few and far between these days, aren't we?"

"Indeed, we are."

Aníra sighed sadly.

"Did you wish to come in?"

She led the way to the kitchen, poured out two glasses of juice, and them both a slice of passion cake. She didn't speak at all during this proceeding, allowing Erestor the usual time to gaze curiously around her home. Her mind turned to the windchimes that hung in every room, each set to a different timbre, thus allowing her to find her way around unaided. Eyebrows most likely quirked at sight of all her ornaments, but the more patient observer would note their very tactile appearance. They would also notice her lute, standing in pride of place in the drawing room. Of course, Aníra didn't need sheet music to be able to play, which she did frequently. Gwirith, Límdur, and Calanon saw to it that she never went too long without company. That said, she did have a companion in her home, but Ëarosto was an elderly cat whose sole purpose in life seemed to be finding the warmest, sunniest spot to sleep in.

"Your home is lovely, Aníra," Erestor commented approvingly. "And you yourself are looking very well."

"Thank you. Mine is a good life these days. How about you, how do you find living in Imladris? I've heard many wondrous stories about it."

"Mine is a fulfilling role here; it's rewarding to have so much responsibility."

Aníra frowned, for the answer felt slightly evasive. Then she brightened, remembering something from long ago.

"Wait where you are a moment, I'll be right back." She dashed to her chamber and returned clutching one of her most treasured possessions. "Here, Erestor, look at this." She handed him a little figurine.

A robed ellon stood at a lectern, curled quill raised in motion, a roll of parchment piling up at his feet.

"He reminds me of you. Do you remember the day we met?"

"I do."

"I always thought you would be happiest at your desk and now look at you – Chief Councillor! Glorfindel took me to this little wood-carver's stall as he walked me home and said I could have any carving I wanted."

"And y-you chose me?"

For the first time, Erestor sounded a little blind-sided. Aníra had the sneaking suspicion it was a state of being he feel often, if at all. She reached out and gently touched the slender wrist. The intimacy was allowed for only a moment.

"I should get back to work," said Erestor briskly as he rose.

"You will come again, won't you?"

"If I have time."

Erestor had a quick step, but Aníra managed to waylay him at the door.

"We are still friends, aren't we?"

"Yes…of _course_ we are, Aníra. I just prefer to look to the future and the great heights to which this Valley will undoubtedly assail."

Aníra's only response was a muted nod of acknowledgement. Erestor briefly squeezed her fingers and was gone.

XXX

Birds twittered as they chased each other, bees buzzed around the garden, some way off there was the sound of a waterfall. Aníra sat on her bench, warmed by the sun. The summer heat seemed less oppressive here than it had in Gondolin. Maybe it was because Yavanna's Bounty was given even freer rein than it had there. Whatever the reason, she already felt at home here and fervently hoped they wouldn't move again. Aníra's growing familiarity with her new surroundings was adding daily to her confidence.

Límdur and Calanon were off seeing to their nascent workshop so Aníra had come to keep Gwirith company. She played music while her cousin went about her many tasks.

A twig snapped suddenly very close by, but Aníra's fingers paused only briefly in their journey across the lute. She had long ago stopped being surprised at another's presence, for her whole being was more attuned to her surroundings these days. She was dimly aware of the garden gate being opened and then someone walking slowly toward her. They were heavier steps, so it was an ellon. They stopped just short of the bench as though their owner knew not to interrupt. Then, as the final notes faded into the air, he spoke:

"Erestor was correct, your music is quite enchanting." It was another new voice, masculine and calm, although not as softly spoken as Erestor. "May I join you?"

Aníra nodded obligingly and turned to face the ellon as he sat beside her. A broad hand was placed in her own and the ellon waited patiently whilst she explored it and his wrist. Solid hand and wrist moved seamlessly into a muscled arm, which was clothed in a rich, silky fabric. This ellon was particularly broad-shouldered, quite a distinctive feature in a race that was generally tall and willowy.

"I am Elrond."

This made Aníra straighten immediately and self-consciously withdraw her hands into her lap.

"Forgive me the liberty, Lord Elrond!" she flustered.

"Nay, Aníra, don't fret. Any friend of Erestor's is a friend of mine. Now, he tells me you knew each other in Gondolin?"

"Yes, briefly."

"And you came here from Mithlond, am I correct?"

"Yes. I enjoyed being so close to the sea for once."

"I should think a life on the open-seas is a very exciting one. Círdan is always trying to coax me out to the coast, but I am too fond of my books and horses. Both mix less well with water than Elves, I think!"

Aníra nodded, feeling a subtle relaxation begin to spread over her.

"However, Erestor also tells me that you are a very talented musician and, from the little bit I heard just now, I would have to heartily concur! I could do with some more musicians in the House. Would you be willing to share your talents with others?"

Aníra's soul thrummed at the prospect, but even now she still retained an element of restraint.

"I don't…feel all that comfortable with change…and we've only just arrived…and, err…"

Again, that broad hand covered her own.

"I'm not pressuring you, Aníra, just promise me you'll think about it?"

"I will."

"And you'll be welcome up at the House at any time."

"Thank you, Lord Elrond, I'll remember that."

"That's all I ask, but for now I shall leave you in peace."

Not long after Lord Elrond's measured bootsteps had faded away, Aníra heard Gwirith coming from the other direction.

"I've brought you some tea, Cousin." The tray chinked slightly as she set it down between them. "Who were you talking to – as a matter of interest?"

Aníra's lips twitched at the unsubtly casual tone.

"Lord Elrond."

"_The_ Lord Elrond? Ooo, you _do_ have a talent for mixing with the great and the good. Precisely how many gatherings did you actually go to during _that_ season? Remind me."

Aníra ignored the bait.

"What did he look like?"

"He's dark, dressed in an earthy-red colour…"

"He felt quite broad, muscly."

"I would say so. He is a Peredhel, don't forget, so he must have inherited the physique of the Secondborn. Hmm, it'll be a lucky Elf who secures _his_ heart. What did he want, anyway?"

"He invited me to be a musician up at the House"

"Will you?"

"I'd like to, but…"

"But what? Aníra, we go through this every – single – time. Once the Imladrim hear you, they won't care what you look like. They'll barely even notice. You're not going to be the only one, are you?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, then…you'll be one in a crowd."

Aníra knew Gwirith was right, but she couldn't help hesitating, even in this wonderful place. It was simply a facet of her character she couldn't shake off, despite the years of effort her family had put in to untangling all the lies and half-truths, and then teasing out her true self.

XXX

Gwirith only held back until the next morning before confronting Aníra again.

"I have little to do at the moment, Cousin, shall we take a walk up to the House and find Lord Elrond?"

Aníra exhaled exasperatedly.

"You _have_ thought about his suggestion, haven't you?"

"Of course I have."

"And? Do you want to?"

"Yes, but-"

"That's settled, then. Come on."

So Aníra allowed herself to be escorted up to the light and airy building that was the very soul of Imladris. At least the journey would be a slow one, to allow Aníra to become better acquainted with her surroundings. She had her stick to tap along the ground and was able to produce a series of clicks and whistles. She found that a combination of these noises helped her to locate objects around her and needed only a few guided walks before she was able to find her own way.

"This is a beautiful building," sighed Gwirith as they wandered along one of the open hallways. "Now, we must find someone…ah! Excuse me, we've come to visit Lord Elrond, he called upon my cousin yesterday."

"I believe Lord Elrond is in his study, please follow me."

The ellon led them quite a way from that first hallway, up various flights of stairs, before he knocked on a heavy wooden door and stepped in when bidden to do so.

"Two visitors for you, my Lord."

"Thank you, Arandur. Aníra, what a pleasant surprise! I didn't expect to see you quite so soon as this. Please sit, ladies."

"My cousin, my Lord, doesn't tend to take _too_ much persuading where music is involved."

"Just as _my_ cousin doesn't tend to take 'no' for an answer."

Lord Elrond laughed out loud at that – full and heartily.

"I can tell already I'm going to enjoy your company, Aníra. I assume you have come to consent?"

"I have."

"In that case, once we have drunk a toast to our new venture, I will find Lindir and introduce you both."

XXX

The atmosphere in the Hall of Fire was excited as all about them waited eagerly for the dancing.

Aníra felt Lindir lightly touch her wrist, silently asking if she was ready. She nodded her assent. First his pipes struck up a cheerful tune, and then Aníra's lute added a layer, and finally, the rest of the small ensemble filled the gaps.

Elves began to clap and gasp delightedly as they were pulled toward the centre of the Hall. There followed a carefree evening of songs, laughing, and dancing, where everyone was a complement to everyone else, and the musicians strove ever further towards flights of fancy and magic. Aníra didn't join in the dancing, as it was her first time at such a gathering at Imladris and she was still rather shy, but she did enjoy herself. Whilst rehearsing with the others was wonderful in itself, having an audience was just that little bit more special. Everyone she'd met had made her feel welcome, and no one pressed her to do or say more than she was comfortable with. Already she was beginning to understand what made Imladris so unique, with all inhabitants allowed to carve their own paths in whatever way they chose. She couldn't wait to fit into her musical niche.

Whatever had happened to Aníra before now, she would be eternally grateful to the Valar for guiding her to this place. Only they could tell what other wonders awaited her here.

**TBC**


	2. Not What Was Expected

**CHAPTER 2: NOT WHAT WAS EXPECTED**

Aníra was walking through one of Imladris' many gardens with Elrond. In the short time they had known one another, they had discovered a mutual fondness for Yavanna's Bounty. Aníra was expounding her theory that all plants were imbued with their own life-giving Fëa. She had spent countless hours sitting amongst them playing or singing, and she was convinced she had heard them humming their own tunes. She didn't voice her thoughts on this subject too often, for even Gwirith had scoffed slightly when she'd first mentioned it. Maybe it was because she was blind and so moved through life differently from others. Maybe she now had a greater appreciation for the seemingly inconsequential. Whatever the reasons, though, Elrond had been the first to take her seriously, and it had become a particular pleasure of hers to walk and talk with him.

"Forgive me, Lord Elrond."

"Erestor, how many more times?"

"Our riders from Lorien have just entered the Valley."

"Ah, I suppose I should welcome them and hear their report. I must take my leave of you, Aníra. I'll try not to be too long."

Aníra assented readily to this. She had some more tunes to practise in any case and it was a very pleasant day. She would be happy enough where she was. Time seemed to have little meaning when she was playing the lute accompanied by only birdsong, or the steady trickle of water that was so prevalent at Imladris.

As she continued the reworking of her ode to daffodils, Aníra began to hum along, completely immersed until she caught the sound of slowly nearing bootsteps. Letting the notes fade to nothing, she returned the lute to its bag and stood up expectantly. The bootsteps came nearer, only stopping when they reached her front.

"Shall we continue, then? … Elrond?"

There was no reply, but Aníra felt the pads of two fingers gently move across her scars. Her heart began to pound, and her legs shook. She knew that touch. Then, an aristocratic baritone breathed out:

"Aníra, it's me, it-it's Glorfindel."

Aníra's legs finally gave way and she sat down hard on the bench.

"Glorfindel."

Achingly family hands, palms calloused by use, took hers as their owner squatted before her.

"I was sent back by the Valar," he whispered.

"How is that possible?" Aníra's voice was hoarse.

"I, and I alone, have been tasked to act as emissary for Elrond and Imladris. Isn't it the greatest honour?"

"Yes."

"Erestor told me where you were and of course I came straightway to see you. He said you had changed, but I hadn't expected you to be quite so enchanting."

Something twinged deep inside Aníra.

"I couldn't believe it from the back, you being dressed so beautifully, but then I heard you play and I knew it was you. My poor Aníra." He cupped her cheek. "Now you are safe at my side once again."

Aníra felt the air shift directly in front of her.

"Don't," she quavered, putting up her hands to halt Glofindel's advance. She gently extricated herself from his grasp and stepped away. She felt cold in spite of the warm weather.

"What ails you, my love?"

"It's…it's all so sudden."

"That it is." He came up behind her and held her shoulders. "But now we have all the time in the world."

Why should she feel so tense? Wasn't this precise moment what she'd been yearning for, for so long? Aníra brightened suddenly and turned around.

"Your return has given me hope…Baudhiel…"

"Tuh!" Glorfindel moved away angrily. "Don't you _ever_ mention that elleth in my presence. She deserves to be where she is! The two-faced, traitorous…"

Aníra was horrified.

"But she's my sister."

"Some sister! Good riddance to her is what I say. My hope is that she never blights our lives again."

"You've changed, Glorfindel." Aníra's voice was quiet. Cool.

"Not as much as you, I fancy, my beautiful one."

His suddenly playful tone chimed for all the wrong reasons, and his hand ghosting up her side was an unwelcome sensation. She flinched away.

"Don't touch me!"

Silence.

"Forgive the intrusion, my Lady, it was kindly meant."

The boots stomped swiftly away, leaving Aníra hurt, alone, and more than a little confused. She was still standing there when Erestor found her a little while later.

"Why didn't you tell me," Aníra asked him quietly.

The Elf-Lord sighed.

"Glorfindel spends his evenings in the Hall of Fire carousing with his troops. I thought, given your history, you would prefer to meet away from the limelight. I swore Elrond to secrecy also. I am sorry."

"It's not your fault, you were only trying to help." Aníra hesitated before she asked another question. "Has Glorfindel changed, do you think, since he was released from Mandos' Halls?"

Now it was Erestor's turn to hesitate.

"He's always been exuberant, gregarious, proud. Why?"

"He had an…edge to him and he said…Oh, it doesn't matter. I think I should like to go home now."

"Of course. Come on."

Erestor tucked Aníra's hand into his elbow.

"Would you pass on my apologies to Lindir and the others? I don't feel like playing tonight."

"Don't you worry, Aníra, I'll sort it all out for you. I promise."

XXX

Aníra did worry, for she wasn't entirely sure that even Erestor's prowess in the Council chamber could help solve the turmoil raging inside her. She'd always thought she'd feel nothing but joy when she was reunited with Glorfindel. Where had these feelings of disquiet and confusion come from? Hadn't she yearned to be back in Glorfindel's arms again? But then, _had_ she thought about him in the intervening years? If truth be told, Aníra didn't think she had. Should she have done? Losing contact with Aerlinniel and Castien after their binding probably hadn't helped, but even so. Aníra's stomach churned slightly – what if she and Glorfindel weren't soulmates? What _had_ he been like? She couldn't remember his being quite so harsh. Aristocratic and opinionated maybe, but never… It was almost chilling to think his emotions could be so changeable. Had there not also been an element of expectation in him? He seemed to think that she would have remained exactly the same as she had been in Gondolin: trapped, trampled, frightened of her own shadow – waiting for someone to come along and… What had he said? 'Safe at my side'. He'd said something similar on that final day, when he'd proposed Binding. Had it all just been another act of heroism for him and simple hero-worship for her?

Much like Erestor, so it seemed, Aníra hadn't liked to think about Gondolin. Or even Baudhiel. That made Aníra feel guilty. Whatever her sister had done, she still deserved to be here, experiencing this wonderful place, where no questions were asked and newcomers could just be themselves. Aníra was proud of how far she'd come. Perhaps Baudhiel would have changed also, but she'd never had the chance. Now Baudhiel's part in the Fall of Gondolin lay – like her – forgotten and uncelebrated… unlike Glorfindel's. Ellyth cast him admiring simpers, ellyn talked of his prowess in battle. Erestor had been correct on one point: Glorfindel did seem to spend an inordinate amount of time, night and day, surrounded by a gaggle of like-minded individuals. It was unsettling. He'd also managed to wring an apology out of his old friend. Although Aníra felt their shared history may have played some part also.

Why did this all hurt so much? Aníra couldn't rest and it was beginning to affect her music. For as long as she could remember, her music had been a source of comfort. It had settled her during the long, lonely hours at Gondolin and afterwards, when everyone had become refugees within their own lands. Music and songs were Aníra's storybooks, and they helped new Elves to look beyond her damaged face. Music had given Aníra a _purpose_ in life, but now nowhere – the gardens, the practice rooms, even her own cottage – could guard against her errant thoughts.

It wouldn't be long before something snapped.

XXX

Away from Lindir and the other musicians, Aníra had gradually drawn a wider circle of friends about her. They knew each other as equals, as Imladrim. If details were not offered, they were not pursued. It was that simple. Like so many others, they would often come together in the Hall of Fire at the end of the day.

The evening had started just like any other. Aníra and Beriana were watching Istuion and Rodwen play chess, while they all engaged in the type of banter that usually develops when wine and good cheer flow.

Aníra's head jerked up. On account of the pleasant evening, many Elves had ventured out into the gardens, so the Hall was emptier than usual. It was easy to pick up on Glorfindel's baritone. He seemed to be regaling yet more sets of eager ears with his Balrog tale. This in itself wasn't unusual, but Aníra had honed in on one particular exchange:

"I'd heard another Elf fought with you and died at your side."

"Oh no, the Balrog's death was all down to me. I didn't have any help."

Aníra's jaw clenched and she set off, her feet carrying her swiftly to Glorfindel's group.

"Excuse me," she said, tapping the Seneschal to gain his attention.

"Yes, Aníra?" he answered politely.

"You know perfectly well my sister was with you. Why do you never mention her?"

There was a slight, familiar scoffing noise.

"I said I did not have help; I didn't say I was alone."

"But surely my sister fought-"

"Baudhiel? _Fight_? Don't make me laugh." Glorfindel's stinging incredulity quietened the chatter around them. "Have you truly been dining out on that dung – that your excuse for a sister fought as valiantly as I? _S__he__'s_ the reason I perished. I could have felled that beast easily had it not been for Baudhiel charging in and clinching at me, spouting some gobble-de-gook about proving her worth. I tried to do my duty even by her, but she was having none of it!"

Through all this, Aníra's nails had been digging deeper and deeper into her palms. She managed to counter Glorfindel's rising diatribe with a forced calmness.

"I have never – _ever_ – tried to profit from my sister's death and I'd thank you to treat her with a little more decency, seeing as she's not here to speak for herself."

"What was decent about your sister? She was a manipulative bully!"

"I don't pretend Baudhiel was perfect, but neither are you. I've heard you, having a little preen here, a little mince there. You'd probably spout your Great Act of Heroism to a floormop if you thought it had ears. I'm surprised you haven't asked Lindir to put compose a ballad and sing it for you!"

There was a long-fingered hand at Aníra's elbow.

"That's enough, Aníra, come on now."

Aníra jerked away from the touch.

"No, I will not 'come on now', Erestor. I'm not one of your quivering scribes you can silence with a look." She turned back to Glorfindel. "Like it or not, Glorfindel, to me, my sister was a-"

"Your sister was nothing more than a conniving snake, who-"

_THWACK!_

Aníra had slapped Glorfindel's cheek with one direct hit. There was a collective gasp from the on-lookers. Possibly, there was not a single soul – off the battlefield at least – who had ever struck _the_ Lord Glorfindel. When next she spoke, it was with the sort of quiet control that only comes from the truly angry:

"Don't you _dare_ judge my sister, you, who has had everything on a golden platter. I hadn't reached my Majority when my parents departed from this world. Baudhiel, barely forty years my senior, was faced with the prospect of no home, no family, no income. Whatever else she did, she kept us together. Why don't you think about _that_ the next time you're planning to impress your baying public?"

Now Aníra did turn away and it was Gwirith who caught up with her and took her arm.

"Why do you defend your sister, after all she did to you?"

Aníra stopped and slowly turned back round, all the fight suddenly gone. She even shrugged.

"Because she _is_ my sister and if I don't defend her, who else will?"

Whispers, like a breath of wind across the sea, grew up around them, but Aníra paid them no heed, content to follow her cousin's lead out of the Hall.

The night afforded little rest, for Aníra's mind remained stubbornly active, constantly returning to the Hall… and to Glorfindel. Her head and her Fëa ached. He had the whole Valley eating out of his palm. She and her family would be driven out and it was all her fault. She reached out for her one source of comfort in a lonely cottage: Ëarosto's warm weight nestled against her.

Silently begging the Valar for guidance, Aníra tried to relax, but she was dreading the approach of dawn.

**TBC**


	3. Gossip

**CHAPTER 3: GOSSIP**

"_I heard he left her just as they were about to exchange vows."_

"_Why come to Imladris, then, if he was here?"_

"_To have her revenge."_

"_Well, _I_ heard her sister kept her enslaved and made her do _every_thing."_

"_Even though she's blind?"_

"_How did she become blind anyway?"_

"_During the Kinslayings."_

"_Truly? She survived _that_?"_

"_How else do you explain such devastation to one family?"_

XXX

Aníra sighed sadly. The gossip mills had already begun to turn, which, she supposed, wasn't all that surprising. So near and yet so far from the truth were they, it was almost comical. She leaned back, supporting herself by her hands, and allowed the soothing woodland sounds and scents to wash over her. She didn't want to forget any detail.

Bootsteps…ellyn…two of them. Aníra kept still, hoping they'd pass her by.

"Look! Up on those rocks."

"I'll go and tell Naneth."

It was Calanon and Lindir. Aníra waited whilst the latter leapt lightly up beside her.

"Here you are! You had us all worried for a moment."

"I thought I'd take one last morning walk and try to remember this beautiful place."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"We'll have to leave, won't we? The entire Valley will take against me now."

"Why do you say that?"

"Glorfindel is…Glorfindel, whereas I'm just-"

"My dear." Lindir put his hand over hers. "_You_ are a very talented musician, who is liked by a lot of Imladrim. True enough, our beloved Seneschal is overwhelmingly popular, but it is by no means universal. His ego has been due a little bruising for a while now. What you said merely gave voice to what a growing number have been thinking in private."

"But…"

"What if I told you Glorfindel left the Hall not long after you did, looking somewhat stupefied, with both cheeks a rather fetching shade of pink?" He squeezed her hand. "The gossip on the grapevine is leaning far more in your favour, trust me."

Aníra sat there, not knowing quite what to say, but Lindir could always be counted upon to cheer people up. Gradually, a small smile appeared on her face. Now her friend nudged her shoulder playfully.

"Have I convinced you to stay?"

She nudged him back.

"Good. Come on, then, there were some de_lic_ious smells wafting from the kitchen just now."

XXX

The group allowed the notes to fade into nothing. Lindir clapped heartily.

"Excellent, everyone! But I think that's enough for now. We'll try it with the descant next time."

They were out in one of the little side-gardens closest to the House. Lindir believed all music should be heard, even if rehearsals were plagued by interruptions. Hopefully, hearing this 'version' would encourage eavesdropping Imladrim to attend the proper performance.

Aníra's ears had found and followed a little Goldfinch's progress. It was only when Rodwen elbowed her that she also caught the sound of approaching bootsteps. All around her people stopped what they were doing. She didn't need Lindir's slightly curt 'Glorfindel' to tell her who it was.

"Beautifully performed as always, Lindir." There was no vocalised response. "I, err, came to see if Aníra could spare me a few moments."

"I'm sure Aníra can answer for herself." A hand was gently placed on Aníra's shoulder. "What say you, my dear?"

The air moved behind and beside her, parchment scrunched, slippers and boots clicked as their owners moved into position. No one spoke. Feeling emboldened, Aníra squared her shoulders.

"I am free…for a little while." Her voice was quite calm.

"Shall I stay?"

Aníra shook her head.

"Very well. Come, come, everyone."

He made his quick little clap that was a hallmark of their rehearsals and everyone melted away. Silence overcame them. Aníra went to sit by a small fountain and trailed her fingers in the water. She wasn't going to make this easy for him.

"It must be odd for you, playing in a group like this?"

"Not so much. I played for a time with the Court Musicians at Lindon."

"You knew High-King Ereinion?"

"A little."

"But…but I visited him, when I…came back."

The shock of realignment was paramount.

"He never mentioned you."

"I wanted to be discreet." Aníra's scepticism must have shown on her face. "I know, I know, it did rather go to my head. I came to apologise."

"Did you indeed? I have yet to hear the words."

"Aníra, I am sorry for all that I said and did. I was a discredit to myself and my House. My parents would have been ashamed of me. I can only hope to eventually earn your forgiveness."

"We cannot ignore my family in this, Glorfindel. Like it or not, like _her_ or not, my sister is a part of me."

"I realise that. Erestor was quite forceful when he took me to task over it. Like a dog to a bone, that one. Be glad you've never been on the wrong side of him. 'T'is a life-lesson, even to those of us who have lived longer. He truly cares about you, you know, perhaps more so than I've ever seen him with another Elf."

"He's always been a very dear friend."

"You've been making a lot of those, I gather, and you have found your true calling. You've finally become the elleth you were meant to be."

At the last, his tone strove for that lower, more intimate note he'd used in Gondolin. Aníra couldn't tell if he'd reached out for her, but she leaned back nonetheless.

"Is any Elf meant to be blind, Glorfindel? I am what I am because of it. Would I be the same person if I were not? I've learnt to embrace it. I hardly notice it these days. I'm no longer the elleth you knew in Gondolin. I no longer need saving."

"No…of course you're not. May I escort you home, my Lady?"

Now his tone was formal, correct…heart-breaking.

Aníra swallowed.

"Thank you."

They set off, arms linked like in the old way, but it was no longer comforting. Aníra's resolve began to crumble. It _had_ been for best.

Hadn't it?

XXX

"_I heard he was on his knees begging her, promising her even the Silmarils if only she took him back."_

"_I heard she's actually in love with someone else but is too scared to tell Lord Glorfindel straight for fear of what he'd do."_

"_But who could _ever_ compare with him?"_

"_Ah, but she's never _actually_ seen him, has she? And what the eye doesn't see…"_

"_Well, _I_ heard Lindir's been seen at their end of the meadow an awful lot recently."_

"_Paying court to her?"_

"_Must be."_

"_Ooo, that would complicate matters, wouldn't it?"_

"_Ye-e-es, but I don't think it's her he's paying court to."_

"_Who else is there? Oh no, you don't mean the young silversmith? That's just typical, isn't it? The best ones are always taken."_

XXX

"You're a prize idiot, did you know that?"

Gwirith had never been subtle.

"I don't know what you're-"

"Don't play games with me, Aníra, do I _really_ need to say his name?"

"It was for the best. _You_ agreed with me!"

"I agreed you shouldn't forgive him too easily. If it was for the best, why have you been in this foul mood ever since?"

"I have to think things through, to plan-"

"This isn't a trip to the market, Aníra! You were head-over-heels in love with him in Gondolin."

"We're no longer in Gondolin. Things have changed."

"Oh, you do surprise me! Yes, like most ellyn, he had his head stuck pretty far up where the sun doesn't shine, but a single slap from you brought him right back down to Arda. Who else could do that?"

"You're speaking of things you have no idea of! I won't lose my independence again…" Aníra flopped down onto the bed. "I can't."

A hand was placed gently on her shoulder.

"You don't have to lose anything, but you should give him a chance. Otherwise, you will be back in a cage and it will be one of your own making. Do you really want to be asking yourself 'what if' for the rest of your days?"

XXX

Aníra sat for a long time after Gwirith had left, trying to untangle the threads of her mind, but it was hard to know where to begin. She idly plucked the strings of her lute. She needed to grab onto one detail and follow it to the end. What was the one constant in all this? Glorfindel. She feared what he reminded her of, but when she thought of the future, two possibilities presented themselves: One, she lived life at Glorfindel's side; two, she did not and would probably end up leaving Imladris. _That_ thought sent a shiver down her spine. To never hear his voice again, or his assured bootstep, or that funny little rhythm he always tapped with his nails when he was waiting. Did she truly want that life? No. Did she want one with Glorfindel? Yes.

Nothing else mattered.

Suddenly, she realised what she was playing. Surely, he would remember… It would be both a very public and a very private declaration.

XXX

Aníra tugged at Gwirith's sleeve.

"Is Glorfindel here?"

"Err… yes, he is."

"Good, I need you to do something for me…"

The musicians began as they always did, playing some dancing tunes, and then all wished to do so sang. It took a while for Aníra to gather her courage, but she eventually raised her hand.

"I have a song, Lindir."

Once she was settled on the stool, Aníra took a deep, steadying breath and began to sing:

When you taught me how to dance  
Years ago with misty eyes  
Every step and silent glance  
Every move a sweet surprise

Someone must have taught you well  
To beguile and to entrance  
For that night you cast your spell  
And you taught me how to dance

Light reflections in a lake  
I recall what went before  
As I give, I'll learn to take  
And to be alone no more

Other lights may light my way  
I may even find romance  
But I won't forget that night  
When you taught me how to dance (*1)

Few at Imladris had heard Aníra sing up 'til this point so there was a slight pause before the Hall erupted into delighted applause. She'd not counted on this level of reaction so her and Gwirith's progress was held up by all those wishing to bestow their personal compliments.

"Make for the refreshments," Aníra urged.

Gwirith steered them neatly over to one side and they tarried over a goblet of wine, making inconsequential small talk. They only paused once more after this, just enough to allow Gwirith to subtly squeeze Aníra's hand as they moved away from the hubbub. Down the corridor and out into the gardens, where everything would be bathed in Ithil's grace. Gwirith eventually found a more secluded spot and left her cousin sitting there hopefully.

Aníra didn't have long to wait. Soon her ears were picking up the sound of an approaching bootstep. Her heart thrummed as someone sat down next to her and put their broad, calloused hand over hers. She squeezed it gently in return.

"I'd forgotten how beautiful that song was," Glorfindel commented lightly.

"It has always been one of my favourites," answered Aníra.

"I can only hope I never give you cause to regret your choice."

"You won't. I have faith in you."

He hooked a finger under her chin and turned her face towards his.

"I love you."

Aníra felt the gap close between them and leaned forward also, but she wasn't unduly surprised when his lips first made contact with her scars. As they traced a path across her eyes, she marvelled in the intimacy of the gesture. The embrace gradually deepened and if either of them heard the snapping of a twig under a boot or the swish of a gown quickly stifled, they paid them no heed.

It was time for the gossip mills of the Valley to move to a different rhythm.

**TBC**

*1 As sung by Katie Melua for the film _Miss Potter_.


	4. Scales

**CHAPTER 4: SCALES**

"Which one do you think?"

They were in Aníra's chamber trying to decide which of her new gowns she should wear to the Avowal Ceremony. It was certainly a wonderful bounty, full of colours and fabrics they'd never heard of, let alone thought to wear. It had been rather comical over the past year – once Glorfindel had finally asked Aníra to bind with him. The Elf-Lord did not habitually spend his coin, but traders could live on the profits for months afterwards. Now he had a bride to lavish gifts upon, those who had once been politely welcoming were suddenly tripping over themselves to assure her that nothing was too much trouble.

"How about the navy with lace sleeves?" suggested Gwirith.

"You don't think the wine-red?"

"It is a lovely shade, but you wear a lot of red. You'll be the centre of attention tomorrow; we need to milk that for all it's worth."

"Personally, I think you should wear the emerald one with pink and white embroidery. That shade would offset the tints in your hair beautifully. Do you not think so, Celebrían?" They both started at this sudden, feminine intrusion. "My apologies. I am Galadriel of Lórien and this is my daughter Celebrían. We could not allow Glorfindel to speak his vows without us being present at the ceremony. We wanted to offer our good wishes to the bride. The ellyn are no doubt reacquainting themselves over a goblet of Elrond's finest so we will not be missed."

"Please come through, my Lady," Aníra said nervously, painfully conscious she was clad in only her linen undergarments.

In the few minutes Aníra and Gwirith were alone, they clutched each other in anticipation. _The_ Lady Galadriel! The only leader of the Ñoldorin exiles to remain in Arda, who had been entrusted with Nenya, and who had enriched Lórien by planting Mallorn nuts, using her very own hands. Their beauty and her power were legendary.

"What a sweet cottage you have, Aníra, if I may call you so? Do you plan to keep it once you have bonded?"

"I hope so."

"Quite right, too," said Lady Galadriel approvingly. "We must not allow ellyn to become too used to having their own way! Now, then, these gowns. May we see you in the emerald?"

Once Aníra was clad in the aforementioned gown, Lady Galadriel circled her.

"Hmmm, it's still missing something," she said speculatively.

"How about some flowers from the garden for your hair?" queried Celebrían in a soft voice. "I spotted some lovely buds as we came in."

"Yes, that might work," said Gwirith.

"May I collect some, my Lady?"

It took Aníra a couple of seconds to react, for it still seemed slightly odd, this change in her 'status'. When Celebrían came back, she was rather flustered.

"Naneth! Naneth! Adar is approaching with the Lords Glorfindel and Elrond!"

With a brisk swish of her skirts, Lady Galadriel crossed the chamber.

"Bridal business – no ellyn allowed!" she called authoritatively and closed the shutters with a snap.

XXX

They spoke their vows outside in one of the larger gardens. The day had started out warm and sunny, but then grew chilly and there was a touch of rain in the air. Erestor suggested moving indoors, but Aníra was firm in her denial. It may have been coincidence, or maybe the Valar continued to watch over their emissary, for the rain held off until they were ready to seal their vows with a kiss. The assembled crowd began running for cover, only noticing the absence of the main couple when they turned back.

What they saw would have melted even the hardest of hearts: the legendary warrior gazing down at his Avowed Wife as tenderly as though she were a newborn elfling, while Aníra carefully traced the outline of his features. Glorfindel understood what she was doing and allowed her all the time she wanted before they finally came together for their first kiss as an Avowed couple. They then gifted each other with a jewel from their families to signify their own acceptance. As Glorfindel had no family present, he himself placed the long-ago-promised Golden Flower pendant around Aníra's neck. She made way for Gwirith, who pinned upon Glorfindel's resplendent robe a silver brooch in the shape of a lute decorated with tiny drops of amber. Throughout all this, the rain continued unabated and the onlookers eventually gave up waiting and ran out to join the trio, alive with laughter and congratulations. When night fell, the new couple retired to Aníra's cottage to complete the marriage ritual and form their own, unique bond.

XXX

Once Aníra and Glorfindel had emerged as fully bonded mates, they found they were quickly able to settle into a comfortable routine: they breakfasted either on their own or with their family before spending the majority of the day in and around the main House. Glorfindel's magnificent chambers in the House became his study. Aníra would come and play the lute whilst he completed his reports.

It was a happy existence, not only for them but for all who came to settle in the Valley. They were little troubled by events in other parts of Arda, although Aníra perhaps understood more than most because Glorfindel would share news with her as it was reported back by Elrond's ambassadors. For the most part, it was inconsequential Court news, but worrying snippets were starting to emerge.

When Ar-Adûnakhôr became the twentieth King of Númenor, he took his royal name not in Quenya, but in the Ardûnaic tongue. A small act perhaps, but it signified the beginning of the old alliances between Elves and Men breaking apart. While some Men recognised the folly in this and remained faithful to the Valar, the tide of change and eventual corruption by the Dark Lord Sauron were unabating.

The Númenórians began to worship Morgoth and desired immortality, even attempting to assail Valinor for it. In their desperation, the Valar appealed to Eru Ilúvatar, who destroyed the Númenórian host, by crushing it under stones, as well as causing the whole of Númenor to sink under the Great Ocean. Just a few royal men of Númenor, led by Elendil the Tall, and his two sons, Isildur and Anárion, survived. They set sail to Arda and established the Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor. Arda itself was made spherical and Valinor was put further out of reach.

Sauron, however, had not been completely destroyed and returned to Mordor to rebuild himself in body and spirit. All too soon, he launched a fresh attack against Gondor. In response to this renewed threat, the Free Peoples of Arda united to form the Last Alliance. Led by both King Elendil and High-King Ereinion, the Alliance spent five years preparing, firstly by gathering forces, and then by forging weapons and training at Imladris. Glorfindel was greatly involved in this work, and he was in his element in doing so. For her part, Aníra did her best to support him. Knowing she had bonded with a true warrior, it was all she could do, apart from hoping he would not be slain in battle.

When the Last Alliance met with Sauron on the plains of Dagorlad, they managed to destroy the main force, but not the leader. It was only when Elendil and Ereinion faced Sauron in hand-to-hand combat several years later that he was finally defeated. But the victory was bittersweet, for both leaders perished and so, too, did the Ñoldorin realms of Arda, as their inhabitants took the decision to sail to Valinor.

Thus, the Second Age of Arda came to a decidedly dramatic conclusion.

XXX

To those who knew him well, Elrond was becoming increasingly distracted, taken to spending many long moments staring into the distance. He was also spending more time shut away in his study, whilst, Erestor noted, with a faint hint of vexation, the amount of messages travelling between Imladris and Lórien was steadily increasing.

"Well, well, Erestor, my old friend," said Glorfindel cheekily, "It appears we must prepare ourselves once more."

"For what?"

"Even you, who is not overly experienced in matters of the heart, cannot failed to have noticed that our Lord and Master has contracted a sickness that only a certain blonde elleth can cure."

"It's taken him a while, hasn't it?" said Aníra, almost disbelieving.

"Ah, but battle has a way of concentrating the mind." He tapped her forehead gently. "Nevertheless, I'd wager he managed to spend some quiet moments thinking about her silky locks and merry laugh."

"How romantic! Don't you agree, Erestor?"

"If you want to believe in that sort of thing."

The quill scratched along the parchment in the way that said its owner had work to do and wanted to be left in peace to do it.

XXX

It was only twenty years after their binding that Celebrían and Elrond excitedly announced Celebrían's being in elfling. Or, to be more precise, in elfling_s_, for she was expecting twin ellyn.

The next twelve months brought a lot of changes to the House as rooms were prepared, clothes and furniture made, and lullabys practised. Once Elladan and Elrohir were born, Aníra – perhaps a tad naively – expected everything to settle down again, but it didn't. The elflings seemed to work in tandem, what one wanted, the other wanted more because he had to wait longer for it. Neither felt any compunction in informing the entire Valley of his feelings.

"They are dear little fellows, really," Glorfindel commented.

"They're running their parents ragged as far as I can tell."

"Yes, but it's all part of the experience. 'Character-forming' as my Adar would say." His arms snaked around her waist and he nuzzled her hair. "Don't you think it's time we started our own family?" he whispered enticingly into her ear before nibbling the lobe.

Aníra could feel her mate's aroused state and normally would have responded in kind, but not this time. She wiggled out of the hold.

"There's time enough for that later surely?"

"We have been bonded a while now. People will start to talk."

His hands began moving across her bodice whilst he planted kisses on her shoulder. Aníra wiggled free again.

"Let them talk. I don't care."

"But don't you want an elfling of your own?" He sounded crestfallen.

Aníra took a while to respond. She had done all she could to avoid this conversation, but had always known it would come up sooner or later.

"Truthfully…no, I don't."

"I'd assumed that that was what all ellyth wanted."

"You should never assume anything. _You_ taught me that."

"I understand your qualms, but-"

"No, I really don't think you do."

"But think of where you've come from. You walk around the cottage and the House as freely as anyone."

"That's not the same thing and you know it."

"Of course adaptations would have to be made, but Gwirith would help you."

"Why not you?"

"Well, you're built for elfling-care, aren't you? Naturally, I will help where I can, but my other work is important, too."

"And mine isn't? The entertainment and comfort of others comes further down the list than parading around in a uniform?"

"Those who came back from Dagorlad and Barad-dûr were heroes."

"Some of those heroes were broken."

"Why can't you understand this from my point of view?"

"Why can't you understand it from mine?"

"Fine – be like that. We'll discuss this later, when you're in a more open frame of mind."

His boots stamped, the door slammed.

They didn't discuss the matter later. In fact, for the first time in a long while, Aníra retired to bed alone.

XXX

There was a knocking at the front door.

"Excellent, he's right on time!"

"I wasn't aware we were expecting anyone."

"I've found a solution."

"To what?"

"To our little problem. Wait there."

"What are you…Glorfindel!"

He was gone. The short exchange of words that followed baffled Aníra completely. When her mate's bootsteps returned, he was accompanied by a lighter, smaller tread.

"Aníra, my love, allow me to introduce our visitor for the day: Nostariel. Now, sweetling, Lady Aníra cannot see so I would like you to go over, give her your hand, and then she can greet you properly."

His tender tone struck a warning bell in Aníra's mind, as did the tiny footsteps that edged nearer. She tentatively stretched out her hand; an elfling's tiny fingers were placed into it.

"Greetings, Lady Aníra," their owner whispered shyly.

Aníra turned to Glorfindel.

"Nostariel's Adar and Naneth were both needed urgently by a friend today. I said you'd be happy to play with her. Now, you two ladies have fun. I'll be back later."

"Wait! Wait! Glorfindel!"

He was gone.

XXX

When Glorfindel did return later on that afternoon, he was confronted by both Aníra and Gwirith. The former was standing by the sink, whilst the latter quickly made her excuses and left.

"How _dare_ you do that to me!"

She was seething with rage and humiliation.

"I'm sor-"

"'Sorry' doesn't even begin to cover it!"

"Will you at least let me explain?"

"Why should I? It was an ordeal from start to end."

"Gwirith was with you."

"Yes, and it was she who did the baking, and the painting, and the reading, and the running around the garden. I stayed in my corner and played the lute…just like always."

His hands came up around her shoulders.

"It was an unfair test and I'm sorry, but it wouldn't be like that right from the start. You'll ease into it and I'll be there to help."

"Like you were today?"

"I truly didn't intend to stay away so long, but had I been there and had I cleared it with you first, wouldn't you have dismissed the notion out of hand?"

"Yes, and why shouldn't I?"

"Because I need you to explore all the options, to realise what a completed family is."

"Does not wanting elflings make me in some way abnormal or in need of correction? Is it really so hideous a notion to believe that our family is already complete? We're not Men, we don't need elflings to carry on our name. I believe I'm beginning to understand what Erestor means about Gondolin. It's gone; they're gone, all the old Houses. What is the point of emulating them anymore? We all need to move on."

"You would take old misery-guts' side over mine?"

"Don't call him that! And this isn't about taking sides, we…we just need to sit down and talk about this."

"Exactly. My love," he took her hand and squeezed it gently, "I don't want you to be unhappy, but we can't move on whilst this remains between us. All I ask is that you listen to me, as I will listen to you." He pulled her toward him and cradled her, much like he used to do in their first tentative days of courtship. "I persist in having this vision of a lively hearth." His voice was low and sultry. "Lively music." His hands began to caress her gently. "Lively family." As he nuzzled her neck in just the place she liked, she found herself relaxing against him. Closing her eyes, she turned her mind to their bond. It had been neglected recently. "Lively cats, even!" Aníra giggled. His fingers danced across her neckline, down her spine to her laces. "My love, I know that when you look down into the face of a smiling elfling, you will want that too."

Aníra froze. All too late, Glorfindel realised what he'd said. He began to stutter and clutch at her, but she wrenched herself away from him. Her angry progress was impeded by first a chair and then the corner of the dresser. They added to her mounting humiliation and desire to get away from everything. Even so, Glorfindel caught her up before she was far down the garden path.

"Aníra, please, I'm sorry…"

There was that word again. How it irritated her, the fact that he expected it to magic everything into its rightful place – including her.

"Don't do this. Come on, come home."

"No! You really have no idea, have you? You just storm in expecting everyone else to conform and kowtow. You're just as spoiled as you ever were!"

Her arrow evidently struck something.

"You bonded with me, you bonded with _this_." He held up her pendant. "Does its history and heritage mean _nothing_ to you?"

Aníra didn't stop to think. She yanked at the delicate chain, breaking it in two. Glorfindel didn't follow her this time. She could imagine her proud, unbending mate standing alone, gazing forlornly at the jewel he set so much store by.

XXX

"Aníra? I thought you were dining at your cottage this evening?"

Erestor's voice both ashamed and soothed her. Shame because she didn't wish to be seen as she was, all scratched and miserable; soothed because she knew she could rely absolutely on Erestor's self-control and common sense. Even so, Aníra didn't trust herself to speak; he took her hand.

"Come. Let's go somewhere a little more comfortable."

He led her to her and Glorfindel's chamber, but left her almost immediately. When he returned, he was accompanied by the tell-tale chink of a tea-tray. Only when they were partway through their second cups did Erestor comment quietly:

"You look in need of a friend."

"A new mate wouldn't go amiss."

Erestor had a very particular way of 'huffing' through his nostrils when he was exasperated, often it was the only indication he gave of such. He made this noise now.

"What's he done?"

Once Aníra started, she couldn't stop. She poured out everything – what had happened, what she felt, all of it in a tumble of broken sentences. How had she managed to keep it all inside? Had Glorfindel been able to sense it, or had he wilfully ignored it? Eventually, the flood eased.

"What do I do, Erestor? He wants the one thing I cannot give him, and he wants it more than anything."

"Aníra, I'm no expert."

"But you're here, and you're listening. Do _you_ want elflings?"

"That was never an option for me."

"No, I suppose not. I do feel better, though. Maybe that's all I needed." She felt for his hand and squeezed it. "Thank you. Don't worry about us, Erestor. Glorfindel and I will figure this out – we have to. Just…stay with me a while?"

They ended up talking late into the night until Aníra fell asleep against her friend's side. When she awakened in the morning, Erestor was gone, but he had left a coverlet gently tucked around her.

Aníra sat up slowly. Without Glorfindel and her normal routine, she felt adrift. She didn't have her staff to help guide her, but if it was early enough, she could carefully retrace her route homeward. Edging out into the corridor, Aníra began her journey only to be waylaid by Celebrían coming the other way. She was carrying at least one of her sons; the petulant screams made concentration difficult.

"Oh, Aníra! You don't know where Elrond is, do you?"

"No, sorry."

"That wretched ellon! He promised he'd be only a few moments. Elrohir is already fussing for yet another feed and I expect you can smell what Elladan's done." Aníra had indeed caught that 'special' odour. "Would you be a dear and hold Elrohir whilst I sort Elladan out? I'll be as quick as I can."

Aníra considered for a moment. Celebrían _was_ a friend and Elrohir was a lot smaller than Nostariel. They'd only have to sit and wait.

"Very well."

"Thank you! Thank you! We were just in the playroom." Celebrían led Aníra to the door. "And here he is…I won't be long – promise. Come on, pickle, Nana needs to freshen you up."

Aníra cradled the surprisingly hefty elfling as carefully as she could – if only he would pipe down a little but being placed in a stranger's arms seemed to have really riled him. She stepped into the so-called 'playroom' – it had been a Drawing Room in a previous life, she and Glorfindel had visited it many times. They would be safe enough.

Or so she thought.

The strident cries were making it had to concentrate. Aníra, finding herself by the table, suddenly felt her foot catch within an upturned bit of rug. She fell forward with a jolt and only just managed to put out a hand to stop herself. There was the sound of tinkling glass as Elrond's delicate goblets shattered under her full body-weight. Elrohir redoubled his efforts and screamed in indignation. Aníra's head was spinning and she was rigid with shock.

The door banged against the wall, and then Elrond's authoritative voice rose above his son's cries:

"I have him, Aníra, you can let go."

But Aníra couldn't. It took a second pair of long-fingered hands to help disentangle her. Pain sliced through her left palm.

"You need to go to the Healing Wing." It was Erestor. "Come on, I'll take you."

He stayed at Aníra's side all the while a Healer was carefully searching her wounds for glass sherds. Bootsteps pounded up the outer corridor and the sound of a second door bouncing off its hinges disrupted the peaceful atmosphere.

"Aníra! Aníra, are you alright? What on Arda happened?"

While Aníra sat limply on the bed, Erestor rose to his feet.

"I would like a word with you, Glorfindel, in private."

"Can't it wait, Erestor?" He sounded exasperated.

"No, it cannot. Excuse us please, Aníra."

When Glorfindel returned, it was without their friend. He sat beside her and slipped his hand into her free one. He was oddly quiet.

"What did Erestor say?" Aníra asked.

"I'll tell you later," replied her husband, now sounding rather dazed.

XXX

They found a bench in one of the courtyard gardens.

"Has…has Erestor ever mentioned an elleth by the name of Morvain to you?"

Glorfindel hadn't sounded so non-plussed in many a long year. Aníra shook her head.

"No, he hasn't. Why?"

"It…it appears they were very much in love – in Gondolin."

"What?" said Aníra incredulously.

"She survived the Fall, but not…not the Kinslaying at Sirion." He paused as the painful thought of that event washed over them. "Erestor was so ashamed of his failure to protect her that he threw down his weapons, vowing to never take them up again."

"I can't believe-"

Yes…actually, Aníra _could_ believe it. In the hard, cold reality of hindsight, even she could see what had been staring them both in the face.

"Does Elrond know, do you think?"

"I don't think anyone does, not fully. All they see is this stern, austere figure, who…oh, Aníra!" he gasped. "I'm such a fool!"

"What do you mean?"

"I've heard Guards talking and…laughing behind his back, and I never saw fit to punish them. Aníra, I _agreed_ with them."

"You weren't to know."

"But he's my oldest friend. After all the care and consideration he's shown us, he deserved far better." He sighed sadly. "We don't have to have an elfling if you don't want to. You were right, I was so focussed on the idea of an heir that I didn't stop to think what actually having an elfling would mean for us, or for you. So long as you're whole, happy, and in my arms, that's enough for me." He took up her bandaged hand and kissed it tenderly. "I love you very much, Aníra. I made a vow to you once to never give you cause to regret your choice, but I have fallen far of the mark recently. I promise to be better in future… so say I, Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower."

He sounded so serious, so unlike her husband, that it was endearing. Aníra's heart fluttered. She leaned forward and kissed him.

"I love you, too."

Their bond shimmered with renewed strength and longing. Aníra was pulled gently to her feet.

"Come," said Glorfindel huskily. "I intend to take you home and pamper you."

They started walking home, back into the House and along the corridor where the higher-ranking Elves of the Valley slept.

"Life's like a set of scales really, isn't it?" reflected Aníra. "Sometimes the good outweighs the bad, sometimes the bad the good. All we can do is help them balance out as much as possible."

"I think we manage that pretty well here," said Glorfindel as he possessively tucked Aníra's shoulders under his arm.

For answer, she simply smiled benignly, and they continued homeward in silence.

Glorfindel made no obvious outward sign that he had heard, but Aníra could have sworn she caught the sounds of muffled sobbing coming from behind one of the doors.

_Most of the time anyway._

**TBC**


	5. Watching, Waiting, Wondering

**CHAPTER 5: WATCHING, WAITING, WONDERING**

There was the sound of light laughter, which made Aníra smile as she stepped into the clearing.

"'Tis no surprise to find you here, my friend," she whispered.

"Come back, everyone, you all know this dear elleth will do you no harm." Aiwendel's voice was soothing and encouraging. He made gentle whistling and clicking noises.

Aníra dropped slowly to her knees and waited until she could hear the chitter-chatter of the Istar's little friends again.

"Who is here today?" she asked.

"Luna is taking her ease on my lap, Nut and Shell are stocking up for Winter, and little Lord Cranberry is directing operations."

The robin twittered in response to his name. Aníra grinned – she could imagine he was also proudly fluffing up his feathers. Aiwendel twittered in response, and then made a funny _crrk!_ noise. There was an irritable 'squeak!' in response.

"Wait your turn, young sir! Here, Aníra, keep him busy, will you?"

A small shower of nuts bounced off Aníra's knee. She gathered them up and held them out one-by-one. A tugging sensation told her Nut had taken the bait. He'd been first out of the nest and could now be rather domineering over his younger brother Shell.

The morning continued in a like-manner, with Aiwendel also singing a lullaby to Luna in between arguing with Nut over the division of the spoils. Lord Cranberry sometimes twittered round about Aníra's feet, but he mostly stayed up above in the branches.

Aníra enjoyed these times with the Istar and his animal friends immensely. There wasn't much 'proper' conversation, but neither was it missed. If she wanted to do something more intellectual, she could go to Curumo or Olórin, although the former in particular always seemed to be locked away in counsel with Elrond, Celeborn, and Galadriel. She supposed that was only natural, Curumo being head of the Order of the Istari.

The Istari were a group of five Maiar, spirits sent by the Valar to Arda to aid the Free People's fight against the new spread of Sauron's shadow. So Curumo did have a lot of responsibility and he seemed to be the one Istar taking the most amount of personal pride in their mission. He buried himself in history and lore, which made him rather distant at times. Olórin was more open and down-to-Arda, but he had discovered a substance he called black powder and now liked to experiment with it. Glorfindel had tried his best to describe the brilliant flashes of colour that were the result, but Aníra found the accompanying explosions painful and tried to keep as far away as possible. Alatar and Pallandro had 'gone travelling' very soon after the Istari's arrival and had yet to return. Unlike the others, Aiwendel concerned himself most with the local flora and fauna. It had been this that had first brought him into contact with Aníra. Like Elrond, he truly listened to her when she talked about flowers and music. He also encouraged her playing for animals.

Eventually, though, like Alatar and Pallandro before them, Curumo, Olórin, and Aiwendel all began to wander around Arda. Aiwendel became drawn towards Mirkwood, or Greenwood the Great as it had once been known. Olórin seemd to wander most of all and – as is the custom with Elves – was gifted with a new name: Mithrandír, or Grey Pilgrim.

As a consequence of their extensive wanderings, the Istari were able to furnish the Elves with far more detailed reports of the outside world than those which they had hitherto been used to. They heard of the reappearance of the Nazgûl, and then the sacking and abandonment of Annúminas.

The Imladrim, however, felt safe in the Valley; and Elrond stuck proudly to his policy of not turning anyone in need away. This was in direct contrast to the far more insular Elves of Mirkwood, or even Lórien. It was nice to also hear lighter tales from time-to-time. Mithrandír became enchanted by a race of creatures he called 'Hobbits', who had settled in The Shire, a small, verdant land in the West. Aníra never tired of hearing about it or its inhabitants. She longed to meet one.

The Dwarves had also been rather active; those who dwelt in Khazad-dûm, continuing their lustful search for Mithril, disturbed the Nameless Terror. In the ensuing battle, King Náin and many of his people were slaughtered, whilst the rest fled. The Elves of Lórien renamed Khazad-dûm _Moria_, or Dark Abyss. Náin's son Thráin then founded Erebor, the Kingdom of the Lonely Mountain.

The Kingdom of Gondor, having suffered so much in the Kin-Strife and then the Great Plague, became the unwilling centre of more unrest when King Eärnur – the 33rd King – fatally accepted a challenge by the Witch-King of Angmar, thereby breaking the Line of Anárion. His Steward, Mardil Voronwë, began to rule Gondor in his stead, vowing his line would do so until the throne could be reclaimed by a true heir of Elendil. Elrond, being a Peredhel and thus giving a touch more thought towards the Secondborn than most Elves, hoped the Kingdom would not have to wait too long.

XXX

There now came a time of peace for both Gondor and Mirkwood, evil having receded from Dol Guldur. Nevertheless, the Elves and the Istari remained wary and eventually formed the White Council at Galadriel's behest. The substance of their meetings remained secret, but Aníra – long experienced in such matters – could generally glean one or two juicy morsels from her mate, who was himself a member.

Galadriel's insistence was soon proved fortuitous, however, when reports of a new species of dark creature running abroad in Arda began to circulate. They became known as Uruk-Hai and invaded Gondor, laying waste to the eastern city of Osgiliath.

Yet through all this, the Elves of Imladris wanted for nothing and felt secure. The evils of Arda seemed incapable of penetrating the protective girdle around their haven. Elrond had indeed been wise when he'd chosen the Valley for his home. But Fate is a cruel mistress and no one is truly safe from her arrows.

XXX

Celebrían had made the journey between Imladris and Lórien alone so often that no one had thought to question it. In the first years of their bond, Elrond had tentatively suggested providing an escort, but he was firmly rebuffed, for his mate was proudly and fiercely independent. Sometimes the family travelled together, or if a Merchant Caravan was going the same way, Celebrían may welcome the company, but mostly she travelled alone.

The first Aníra knew something was wrong was the sudden crash of a goblet on marble, and then a buzz of concerned voices. Glorfindel had immediately left her side so she grabbed Lindir's arm instead.

"What's happening?"

"Elrond looks like he's seen a ghost."

"Elrond?" Glorfindel.

"Adar?" Elladan and Elrohir.

"Cel-Celebrían…" His voice, no longer that of calm authority, was now a strangulated whisper. "She…she's in pain…great pain…and she's terrified."

"We'll find her," said Elrohir resolutely, "Come, Brother."

A ringing silence descended after the Hall doors banged behind them, the Imladrim realising that, yet again, there was little they could do but wait.

When the Twins did return, the prognosis was not good. Celebrían had been taken and tortured by the filthy Yrch. Elrond laboured long and hard and eventually managed to heal her physical injuries, but she had lost all joy in life. The Imladrim did all they could to help, but she was gradually slipping away, wanting only to sail and seek peace in Valinor. At first, Elrond resisted all overtures, and many supported him, knowing the pain such a separation would cause to all the family. Glorfindel was one of his most ardent supporters and spent many hours at Elrond's side.

Aníra was as unhappy as anyone at her Lady's plight, remembering the bright, mirthful elleth who had helped choose flowers for her Binding. Unable to stand the atmosphere in the House any longer, she went out to the gardens, seeking solace amongst Yavanna's Bounty. Following the path into one garden, Aníra stopped suddenly. It felt quiet, cold, and sad. She began edging away as discreetly as possible.

"No, Aníra, don't go." Celebrían's voice held a pleading note in it.

Aníra was unable to resist the unspoken request and carefully found her way over to where Celebrían's voice had come from. They didn't speak and time began to stretch. Aníra took up her lute, but all that she played seemed to have an innate sadness to it.

"You don't have to play; your presence is enough."

Again, they sat in silence. Then, gradually, Aníra stretched out her hand. It was met by Celebrían's coming the other way.

Eventually, it was only Galadriel's pronouncement – in a voice taut with emotion – that her daughter would begin to fade if she was not allowed to sail that made Elrond relent. And if he thought the rest of his family would remain at Imladris, he was to be sorely disappointed. The Twins, now harbouring a deep-seated and lust for revenge against all Dark Creatures, travelled about the Wild killing as many Yrch as they could find, while Arwen chose to spend many long years amongst the golden trees of Lórien.

XXX

In the years after Celebrían's sailing, Arda itself seemed to grow darker. Dragons attacked the Dwarves of the Grey Mountains. Yrch invaded even the lands of the little Hobbits. The seemingly endless days of the Long Winter battered all creatures great and small. A Firedrake known as Smaug captured Erebor along with all its treasure. The Dwarves and the Yrch battled for supremacy. Men, of course, continued to battle each other.

In amongst all this, members of the White Council had been watching Dol Guldur closely, fearing the growth of its darkness. Mithrandír eventually succeeded in entering those cursed lands. When he returned, it was with the confirmation of what everyone had been dreading, but also vainly hoping would not occur: Sauron had returned.

The rains returned to Imladris, although they weren't the usual light, life-giving Spring rains. They pervaded every crevice, making the very atmosphere damp and cold. Usually, Aníra enjoyed the rainy season, revelling in the chance of being able to wander through more than just darkness. Now, however, she spent many hours indoors, trying not to dwell on too many dark thoughts. Even the mere confirmation of Sauron's return was enough to send a chill down the spine. It seemed to sharpen everything. The evil and darkness had always been real, but now battles would have to be fought. Many red suns would rise.

Arda was at the crest of a great wave, about to tumble down into the abyss of the unknown.

**TBC**


	6. The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

**CHAPTER 6: THE BEST OF TIMES, THE WORST OF TIMES**

"Have you heard the latest?" said Lindir, by way of introducing his presence at the parlour window.

Assuming her friend was raring to pour forth his gossip in his usual inimitable style, Aníra laid aside her cup, demurely folded her hands on the tabletop, and turned toward him. A knowing smile played about her lips.

"It seems I have not. Tea?"

"Well, since you're asking, it would rude…" his voice faded away as he made his way round.

By the time he'd settled himself at the table with a sigh of contentment, Aníra was adding the milk.

"So, the Twins have just arrived back from the Wild, escorting a lady of the Dúnedain and her young son…ooh! Those wouldn't be _butterscotch_, by any chance, would it?"

"You have a true gift for timing, Lindir. I was just about to have some."

"It _is_ a well-known fact that sweet-meats taste so much better…oh, thank you!"

They ate in silence for a while, Lindir following his usual course where biscuits are concerned: break, dunk, munch.

"Where's the little one's Adar?"

"Pardon me? Oh, killed in battle against the Yrch. Poor little mite. He's only seen three summers."

"Another fosterling for Elrond, then. Interesting."

"That's not all. The lady – Gilraen is her name – carries with her the _Ring of Barahir_."

"The House of Isildur, eh? Very interesting."

"There you go! I _knew_ you'd appreciate my coming round."

"Almost as much as you seem to have."

"A pleasure as always, my dear."

XXX

As is the way of Men, little Estel grew quickly, but was fortunate enough to have not been burdened by unhappy memories. To him, he merely went from one Adar to another. The Twins' presence also eased the transition, for they had known Estel since he was a babe-in-arms. It was possibly this closeness that had persuaded Elladan and Elrohir to resume their lives and duties in Imladris – much to Elrond's relief.

Seeing her son so happily settled was a balm to the Lady Gilraen's soul as well, meaning she was able to concentrate on her own healing. A talented herbalist, she would spend much of her free time in Elrond's herb garden. She wasn't expected to earn her keep, but ladies of the Dúnedain are hard workers and she eventually made good use of her skills by helping the Healers create draughts and poultices.

XXX

Elves are not generally accustomed to looking to the future, for that would be a mortal way of thinking. Now, however, the Imladrim were protecting the Heir of Isildur whilst being forbidden from uttering that very phrase. They knew the peace in the Valley would not hold forever, but they did not think it would be shattered so soon by Mithrandír leading a company of thirteen Dwarves and one Hobbit.

Most in the Valley were sceptical over Elrond's wisdom in permitting their entry, for all they lauded Imladris' tradition of sanctuary. The enmity sparked by the traitorous murder of Thingol was a feeling not lightly thrown aside. Elrond understood their feelings and did not press any to contribute more than they had to. There were some, however, whose rank necessitated their presence at certain functions. Glorfindel came home with tales of raucous singing and food-fights. In fact, few could fail to miss the singing, for it would often shatter the tranquillity of the night, as did the use of the ornamental fountains for bathing pools. For once, Aníra was thankful for being blind, as it meant she didn't have the scene 'imprinted on her eyeballs', to use Lindir's shuddering expression.

The Dwarves' sojourn at Imladris did hold one happy prospect for Aníra: she was finally able to meet a Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. It happened quite suddenly one sunny afternoon in the gardens. Aníra was playing her lute when she became conscious of approaching footsteps. They weren't the measured step of an Elf, or the long stride of an Istar; they were smaller, rather like those of Estel, but at the same time adult, too.

"Who is there?" she called out.

"It is I, Bilbo Baggins of the Sh-oh!"

"Do not pity me, Master Baggins, I'm long used to being this way. I would that you treated me as one who is merely interested in you and your people. Mithrandír has told me many tales of your customs and I would like to hear a firsthand account. Here, sit beside me." She patted the bench. "You live underground, do you not?"

"We most certainly do _not_!" He sounded affronted. "A Hobbit Hole is not full of scuttling insects and oozy smells, but food, wine, fires, and very fine furnishings…"

The conversation continued for quite some time, which began to flow like water, both in that garden and later, when Aníra's family joined in also. Glorfindel was only too pleased to contribute with tales of derring-do; Límdur and Calanon appreciated Bilbo's artistic curiosity; and Gwirith seemed to enter into a recipe bidding-war – 'I'll take your syrup sponge and raise you my mallow cake!' All in all, it was time well spent and each was left with a sense of loss after the Dwarves and Bilbo had moved on.

XXX

Curumo – or Saruman as he now preferred to be called – finally acquiesced to Mithrandír's urgings to attack Dol Guldur, in the hope of driving Sauron away once and for all. It was a tense time for all concerned and those left behind could only come together for comfort and send pleas to the Valar for a favourable conclusion.

When the Elves and Istari did return – albeit claiming victory – they were dispirited and forlorn, for the evil at Dol Guldur seemed to have seeped into their very souls. In the days that followed, Glorfindel kept close to the cottage and would only venture out if Aníra wanted to go somewhere. He had his Protective Warrior Aura firmly in place and Aníra had been bonded with him for too long to try and change it. She knew the best ways to ease his burden and asked nothing of him.

XXX

Summer had been chilled by the attack on Dol Guldur, but then news reached Imladris of a great battle fought on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain. A relatively small force of Men, Silvan Elves, and Dwarves – aided by the Eagles – were pitched against innumerable Yrch and Wargs. Losses on both sides were heavy, but what vexed Aníra most was that little Bilbo Baggins had been right in the thick of things.

Mithrandír, when next he visited Imladris, was able to assure Aníra he'd escorted the Hobbit safely to the borders of the Shire. However, he became strangely evasive when questioned over exactly how Bilbo had managed to survive what would later become known as the Battle of the Five Armies.

XXX

"_Adar, I believe I have just seen your fosterling Estel down by the Bruinen."_

"_Ah, my thanks to you, daughter, we've been searching high and low for him."_

"_Whatever for?"_

"_It was only yesterday that I told him of his true inheritance and gave him the Ring of Barahir and the Shards of Narsil."_

"_He is…much grown since last I saw him."_

"_Yes, well, he has also grown both impetuous and hot-headed, like much of his kind. I should let Gilraen know of his whereabouts."_

XXX

Now that Estel knew himself, there was nothing to stop him from going off for 'Real Adventures'. He went with his Naneth's blessing, however, for she knew all had been done to protect him and a grown man must be allowed to make and live by his own decisions. He did return at intervals, bringing with him tales of his service in the guise of Thorongil to both Gondor and Rohan.

At one time, he returned with Arwen at his side. It transpired they had met when Estel visited Lothlórien. That knowledge, coupled with the nervously formal way he asked Elrond for a private meeting, should have revealed everything. As it was, Elrond himself disappeared for a while, apparently taking A Walk. Eventually, Lindir's gossip vine filtered through the news that Estel had indeed asked for Elrond's permission to wed Arwen, but it had been withheld until such time as he was king of both Gondor and Arnor.

Death was a concept most Elves did not concern themselves with. Of course, they weren't so blinkered as to ignore it completely – a natural balance was needed, after all – but it was not a given. Death as a result of war was tragic enough, but to willingly accept the Gift of Men was truly heart-rending. No doubt Elrond had been hoping all three of his elflings would follow his path, as opposed to that of their uncle. Celebrían had sailed in the saddest of circumstances, now her mate was faced with the prospect of leaving behind his beloved daughter.

The following evening, it was noticeable that there were far fewer in the Hall of Fire. Everyone had evidently been taking stock and were now giving thanks for the presence of their own loved ones.

XXX

The Third Age of Arda had not long turned over its third Millenium when Bilbo made a surprise return to Imladris, announcing his intention to stay as 'nowhere else came as close to matching Bag End in comfort'. Apparently, he had left all his possessions to a young relative of his, Frodo.

"A spirited lad, all told," said Bilbo approvingly. "Just as long as them Sackville-Bagginses don't try to sell off the furniture when his back is turned. Assumed I was dead, can you believe? Took me no small amount of trouble to track it all down. They've never forgiven me for living this long and they never appreciated my tales of mountains and Trolls. Mind you, they always had their eyes on my wine cellar. Had to hide all my Old Winneard. Did I tell you I've written a book? A little trouble with the ending, but Gandalf seemed to like it."

Bilbo had mentioned his writing to Aníra on more than one occasion. In fact, she was growing slightly concerned for her little friend. He had taken to talking in a rambling, far-off fashion and his fëa felt jaded somehow. Still, he had endeared himself to many in the Valley, all of whom made it their business to ensure his comfort whilst he was in their care.

XXX

"Elrond! Elrond!"

Aníra doubted any in the House would have missed Glorfindel's alarmed call. She certainly couldn't, having taken to sitting just within the bounds of the Outer Courtyard in anticipation of her mate's return. Elrond had sent him to search for Frodo and his companions. Now they were back and in the middle of a catastrophe.

Aníra huddled where she was as the space in front of her filled with shouts, running feet, and Asfaloth's edgy snorting. The confusion slowed a little when Elrond himself appeared.

"What happened?" he said shortly.

"Morgul blade, two weeks' hence."

"Take him to the Healing Wing. Valar grant we still have time."

Then, almost as soon as it had started, the noise died away, Asfaloth was led to his stall, and Aníra was alone again. Or so she thought.

"Should we go after Mister Frodo?" said a new voice worriedly.

"Fear not," answered Aníra gently. "Lord Elrond is a great Healer and will do all within his power to help your friend. You must be the Hobbits my mate was sent to find. How many of there are you?"

"Three, my Lady," answered the first voice. "I am Samwise Gamgee, with me are Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took."

Aníra rose to her feet.

"It is a pleasure to meet more of your kind. Master Bilbo Baggins is an honoured guest here. Come, I will take you to him."

Having safely delivered her charges, Aníra left them to enjoy their reunion and made her way to her chambers. Hopefully, Glorfindel wouldn't be long. As it was, he was already there, washing away the dust of the road.

"I'm glad you're home safe," she whispered as she found his bare back and leant into his reassuringly warm presence. Glorfindel turned and embraced her, inhaling deeply as he planted a kiss on her head. "Will Frodo survive?"

"Elrond's still working on him." He paused. "I…I felt the One Ring, Aníra, even though I wasn't wearing it. It was cold…powerful…hungry. I only hope it will be destroyed once and for all."

XXX

It wasn't long before Elrond called a secret council to discuss the fate of the Ring. They eventually decided that a brotherhood – formed from the Free Peoples of Arda – would attempt to convey it back to the fires of Mount Doom. Known as the Fellowship of the Ring, the company of nine set out from Imladris towards the end of the year, elven songs of hope ringing in their ears.

XXX

For weeks, the Imladrim waited for news. When it came, laments echoed throughout the Valley. Mithrandír had fallen whilst battling a Balrog. Without him, all hope seemed lost – could such a disparate band of travellers really continue without the bind of his presence?

To live at Imladris was to live at leisure, with much time for soul-searching. Many were now finding their fëar drawn towards Valinor. They craved steadiness and clarity of thought. As a rule, the Firstborn did not strive to gain lands, treasure, or renown like so many mortals did. They were content to live amongst Yavanna's Bounty for as long as it endured. Arda had proven to not always be very adept at providing the optimum conditions for such tranquillity.

Almost as soon as the laments to Mithrandír had died away, the Imladrim received news of his return! He had been born up by Gwihír, the Lord of the Eagles, to Caras Galadhon and healed. He was now a White Wizard, surpassing even the traitorous Saruman in power.

In truth, life at Imladris these days felt rather disjointed – for all the sanctuary provided. Always they were on the edge of battle, always they were waiting for news. Glorfindel in particular bridled at his duties and the bonds they carried. So when they heard that Lothlórien itself had been attacked by the evil that lurked in Dol Guldur, he and Elrond began making plans to send some of their own warriors to help. Elladan and Elrohir also left, but for the city of Minas Tirith, to fight with Men in the very shadows of Mordor.

XXX

The evil was unmade surprisingly quickly.

Sauron was defeated and passed beyond the Circles of the World. Estel was crowned King Elessar of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor. Elrond kept his word and gave his blessing for Estel's union with Arwen.

The King's return came to mark the beginning of the dominion of Men. The time of the Elves was over.

XXX

"Aníra." Glorfindel shook her gently. "We're about to dock."

Aníra uncurled herself and reached for her slippers, and then her cloak, eeking out the moment for as long as was elvenly possible.

"I'm ready," she said, wondering vaguely whom she was trying to convince more.

Aníra did not like change and these past few weeks had been some of the most tumultuous since her time in Imladris.

Valinor. It was a name that sparked yearning and delight for almost all the Firstborn. It was peace and harmony, not war and hardship. It was home.

Only Aníra seemed to think differently. To her, Valinor was just another place to become acquainted with, another place she would never see. Whatever independence she had gained in Arda, she would always be required to dance to another's tune.

Glorfindel had kept the final vow he made to Elrond, sailing only when Elladan and Elrohir did the same. Aníra had kept mainly to her cabin, only venturing out when her mate provided a steadying arm. Now, they were up on deck waiting to disembark. There seemed to be quite a crowd at the quayside, if the excited buzz was anything to go by.

"Can you see Gwirith and Límdur?" Aníra asked.

"Err…yes, they're there, looking up at us." He briefly took his hand away to wave. "Come on. It's time."

"Aníra!" Gwirith cried, eagerly hugging her cousin. "Welcome home! You're both looking well."

"As are you," Aníra answered, feeling the presence of a small but significant bump at Gwirith's middle.

"Oh, yes, we're very excited. I think it happens quite a lot when people arrive here."

XXX

Gwirith and Límdur had done their best to adapt their home to something resembling familiarity for Aníra, but it was never going to be truly the same. Not when there had been so many questions over when, or even if, they were going to sail. Now that her cousin was in elfling again, Aníra could feel all her old demons beginning to rear their ugly heads.

"You shouldn't think like that," admonished Glorfindel as they took their customary evening stroll along the clifftop.

"It's all I know how to do sometimes." Aníra sighed sadly. "I really should spare a thought for Erestor, though, shouldn't I?"

"Yes…he has become even more withdrawn recently, without any duties to distract him."

_You grieve for him, Friend Glorfindel?_

Both Aníra and Glorfindel jumped, the latter looking around wildly for the source of the voice.

"My Lady!" he said reverently and bowed.

Aníra curtsied awkwardly.

_Welcome to Valinor, An__í__ra. I am Varda._

The voice echoed deeply inside Aníra's mind, demanding attention.

_I have come to welcome home my most loyal of emissaries and to reward him for his steadfast devotion to duty._

"My Lady?" queried Glorfindel nervously.

_Do not let your hearts be troubled by Erestor's plight. He is destined to…happen upon a certain elleth in the not too distant future. He will be happy._

"Thank you, My Lady, that gives my fëa joy."

_And yet still it grieves – how so, Friend Glorfindel?_

"You know why, My Lady."

_Say the words._

"I…I would that my mate could see the beauty of Valinor for herself."

_Is this your wish also, An__í__ra?_

"I cannot say. 'Tis just a flight of fancy."

_Say not so. The Firstborn were born to light, not darkness. Come to me._

Aníra's feet followed the direction the voice seemed to be coming from.

_It is time._

Aníra stood there waiting. Then, out of the blackness, came a faint, greyish glow. As it grew steadily brighter, her eyes began to tingle. Brighter and sharper the light and sensation became until both erupted into a white-hot pain that clawed across her scars. She fell to her knees, crying out, and clutching her face.

"Aníra! Stop, you're hurting her!"

The pain did stop, quite suddenly. She found herself enveloped in Glorfindel's arms – both of them were breathing heavily.

_Look at me, An__í__ra._

Aníra didn't want to move from her present position, but neither could she ignore the command. She sat up and felt Glorfindel gently peel away her fingers. She blinked her eyes open. A handsome, grey-eyed ellon was kneeling in front of her, his face framed by long, golden hair. He was smiling broadly at her. His eyes were very moist. He reached out a hand and cupped her cheek.

"My love," he murmured.

Both the voice and the slightly roughed touch were achingly familiar. She held her own hand up in front of her face. Turning it this way and that, she examined every line. Then she moved onto her sleeve. Was that what purple truly looked like? She'd almost forgotten.

_Look at me._

Now Aníra's eyes sought Varda, whose brightness outshone everything. She was both solid and nebulous, and seemed to float rather than walk. She approached them now.

_It is time, An__í__ra, to live your life as you were meant to, surrounded by your family._

Then Aníra saw them, an ellon and elleth walking slowly in their direction. The ellon's hair was quite dark, but the elleth's shone a bright, burnished auburn whenever it caught the light. It shone in a way Aníra hadn't seen since…

"Adar? Naneth?" she breathed.

Surely, that should also mean…but the nebulous form had begun to fade.

"Wait! What about my sister?"

Only now did the brightness dim a little.

_Alas, there are some hurts that can never fully heal. We know what she did and why. She's not wholly evil but has elected to remain in Mandos' Halls._

Baudhiel's words from so long ago ran through her mind: _You weren't supposed to be there._

"Would you please tell her: she's still my sister, my other half."

Varda's only answer was a beatific smile as she finally faded from view.

XXX

Glorfindel turned over, hovering between reverie and wakefulness, and reached for his mate. She wasn't there. Sitting up and brushing his hair away from his face, Glorfindel observed their chamber. It was still dark and none of the shadows resembled Aníra. There was, however, a small chink of light coming in through a gap in the curtains. He padded over to it and looked out.

There she was, clad in only her nightgown, standing in the full, bright glow of Ithil's light, staring up at that benevolent being.

Glorfindel sighed. It had been an odd day, trying to connect with the family he'd never known. Aníra had hardly ever mentioned them. Unconsciously, his hand balled into a fist. He would never, _could_ never forgive Baudhiel, even though it seemed that Aníra still yearned for her in some way. They weren't supposed to have secrets from each other, but could he truly say he knew everything about his mate?

Líndariel and Ainion, and Gwirith and Límdur had all been effusive in their conversation earlier, revelling in the delight of being reunited as a family. For the most part, Aníra had stayed silent, almost hunched up in her usual chair. Everyone had been kind enough not to draw attention to this, but privately Glorfindel had been a little surprised. He'd assumed the recovery of both Aníra's sight, and her parents would have been a source of unparalleled joy.

He leant against the heavy material beside him. Then, quite suddenly, a thought struck him, and he put out a hand. Eyes shut, Glorfindel felt along the velvet curtain, to the bulging tassel, and then to the carvings on the wall. All these different sensations flowed into each other, giving him an idea, but not the full picture. He thought back to something his mate had said earlier, which he'd mentally brushed aside – _I'd forgotten how glaring the world could be_. He was well aware, of course, of her talent for sensing her surroundings by means other than sight. Was it a 'talent'? Or ability? Whatever it was, it was something unique to her, it made her stand out, but that didn't necessarily mean it was unwelcome or in need of correction. Her true talent was her music, everyone said so, but she was 'the blind musician', not just 'a musician'. As her mate, he should have been concentrating on that, as opposed to her so-called disability.

She had been perfect just the way she was.

Now, as a direct result of his actions, she would have to relearn everything, where things were, and which voice belonged to which Elf. Glorfindel knew his request said far more about him than it did about her.

Varda had praised his steadfast devotion to duty, but now it felt as though his duty had been entirely misplaced. How had Erestor put it? 'No duty is worth that'. _His_ duty had cost him countless years of loneliness, misery, even ridicule. But the Valar knew all that went on in an Elf's fëa, so Varda would have been able to read all this.

_There are different types of duty, Friend Glorfindel. You have no cause to regret yours._

Glorfindel went to find a tunic. Out in the garden, he stole up behind Aníra and laid her cloak about her shoulders as gently as he could. She didn't react. Glorfindel leant forward and nuzzled her hair, but she hung her head. He turned her by the shoulders and placed a finger beneath her chin so that she looked at him. There were tear-tracks on her cheeks. Glorfindel embraced her tightly.

Yes, duty came in all guises. _His_ was one that centred entirely on his mate: they would go forward and learn together.

'_It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.'*_

**THE END**

*1 My thanks to Mr Charles Dickens for his novel _A Tale of Two Cities_, which provided inspiration for my work.


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